


And Now the Dawn is Coming

by VarjoRuusu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, Brief Arya/Gendry - Freeform, Brief Jon/Daenerys, F/M, Fluff, Implied Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Near Death Realisations, Sillyness, Snark, etc - Freeform, joy, post 8.03, relationships, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 19:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarjoRuusu/pseuds/VarjoRuusu
Summary: After the Long Night has ended, and the war against the Dead has been won, Sansa thinks of those words spoken in the crypts, in the dark and the fear, and wonders.- - -A post 8.03 oneshot that got so far away from me I don't even know what's going on anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. That's all I gotta say. I have no idea how this happened. This is NOT how I expected to finally write Game of Thrones fanfic, not in the slightest. I didn't even ship this until last week, and WOW did this happen quickly.

It's been four days since the battle and Sansa can't hold her curiosity in any longer. 

The heroes have had their funeral, the bodies of the dead have been sorted and burned. The Unsullied, unasked, have already began to rebuild the walls. Stores have been checked over, the wounded have been tended, and they will feast in celebration tomorrow. In five days they will march south. 

But now, after waiting until the most pressing matters have been attended to, Sansa sends someone to find Samwell Tarly, knowing he will be the best one to answer her questions. 

She finishes reading through the lists of what they had lost while she waits, knowing Sam is busy still. She still has plenty of work to get done herself, and the sun has shifted across the room before Sam knocks, then pushes the door open at her call, the man she'd sent to find him hanging back. 

"You wanted to see me?" Sam asked as Sansa nodded to the man behind him, who inclined his head and shut the door. 

"Please, sit," Sansa smiled, offering Sam a glass of wine, to which he shook his head as he took a seat. 

"You look like we didn't just win a war," Sam said kindly and Sansa smiled, chuckling as she relaxed a little and took the seat across from Sam. 

"I've had a lot on my mind, I haven't really had the chance to stop and celebrate. But that's not why I asked you to come. I wanted to see you because you've had training as a maester."

Sam nodded, sitting straighter. 

"What's bothering you and how can I help?"

Sansa took a breath. 

"Would a marriage, performed before the Seven, and never consummated by mutual agreement, be invalidated by a subsequent marriage, to someone else, before the old gods?"

Sam blinked at her, then nodded, tapping his fingers. "I see why you needed a maester. It's a complicated situation. This second marriage, was it willing or unwilling?"

"Unwilling," Sansa said. 

"Was it performed by a maester? Is there a record?"

Sansa shook her head. Her farce of a marriage to Ramsey had been performed by his father, who had the power as Lord of the Dreadfort, but he was no holy man. 

"And was it...consummated?" 

"Also unwillingly."

"I see," Sam nodded. "And the marriage before the Seven, there was a record?"

"As far as I am aware," Sansa nodded quietly. 

"And the spouse of the second marriage, alive or dead?" 

"Dead." As dead as she could make him.

Sam just nodded. 

"So what you're asking me, Lady Sansa, is if your forced marriage to Ramsey Bolton, invalidated your unconsummated marriage to Tyrion Lannister?"

Sansa raised an eyebrow then nodded. The world nearly ending had made Sam blunt. Not that she minded. Quite a lot had shifted in the last few days, for everyone and honesty always seemed to be a better policy in general. 

"In short...no. Not as far as the faith of the Seven is concerned. Your marriage, while unconsummated, was never officially annulled, making your marriage to Ramsey invalid, especially because it was done before the old gods."

Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. 

"So I'm still a Lannister, then," she said softly. 

"What happened down there? If you don't mind me asking," Sam queried, curious. 

"Nothing," Sansa smiled softly, remembering the look on Tyrion's face as he held her hand and kissed the back of her glove. "And everything."

Her heart was pounding as hard as it had been that night, but this time it wasn't only out of fear. This time there was something else nestled there, growing stronger every moment, something she had never felt before, but had dreamed of since she was a little girl. She thought she knew what it might be.


	2. Chapter 2

"Lady Sansa," Tyrion nodded as he entered her room at her gesture.

"I wanted to speak with you," Sansa said quietly as Tyrion shut the door behind himself, coming toward her fire and taking a seat. 

Sansa turned, handing him a glass of wine, which he accepted with a silent smile.

"What you said down there...that we should have stayed married. Did you mean it, or was that just the wine and an army of the dead outside the door doing the talking?"

Her hands were shaking around her own wine glass, but she turned her back to him to hide it. Tyrion was silent for a long time, longer then Sansa had expected, but she was willing to give him the time to think about it. She'd already had two days since she spoke to Sam, Tyrion deserved a few minutes. 

She was so lost in her own worry though, that she almost missed his quiet response. 

"I meant it."

Sansa sucked in a deep breath, her fingers tightening around her glass. 

"I've always respected you," Tyrion continued. "I grew to care about you, that short time we were married. Before...well. And then after, I knew you had escaped, but I was fleeing for my own life and never thought you'd welcome me if I tried to find you."

"And now?" Sansa asked, willing her voice to remain steady. 

"My past isn't pretty. I've been in love twice, both times with whores that my own father employed to disteact me. I killed Shae, did you know that? Strangled her with my own hands, after I put three arrows in my father while he sat on the privy."

"I turned Ramsey's own dogs on him and I smiled when they tore him to pieces. I pronounced the sentence and watched Arya slit Littlefinger's throat in the middle of the hall. If you're trying to convince me you're a monster, you won't."

"You called me that yourself once," Tyrion said and Sansa sighed. 

"I was young and stupid. Selfish. Couldn't see past the end of my own nose."

Tyrion laughed, absently rubbing the scar across his face. He'd been lucky. Half an inch lower and he wouldn't have a nose anymore. 

They fell silent for a long while, Tyrion gazing at the fire in the hearth and Sansa gazing out the window at the fires burning around Winterfell. Absently Tyrion rose to refill his wine glass. 

"We're still married," Sansa blurted and Tyrion froze, the pitcher tilted over the glass and about to pour. 

After a moment Tyrion filled the glass, drained it, and filled it again before turning to her. 

"What did you say?"

"I said we're still married. According to the faith of the Seven anyway. Our marriage was never officially annulled, that I know of, and they don't recognise my marriage to Ramsey because it was done in the old faith. Not to mention he's dead, his father is dead, everyone who was at that wedding but me, is dead."

Tyrion stared at her, her straight back and stiff shoulders and she still refused to look at him. He tried to think, tried to remember what he knew about marriage laws. 

"Who told you this?" he asked finally.

"Sam. He was at the citadel studying to be a maester, I thought he'd know," she said, turning just enough to catch a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked shocked, almost as white as the marble in the crypts. 

"Sansa-"

"Do you love me?" she asked, turning so their eyes met. 

"Yes," Tyrion said without hesitation. 

Sansa smiled, her shoulders sagging in relief as she took a step forward and sank to her knees, throwing her arms around him. He returned her embrace fiercely, holding her close, daring to hope.

Finally Sansa pulled back and Tyrion smiled, wiping the tears from her cheeks. 

"I want you to share my bed," Sansa said softly and Tyrion's breath hitched hearing the echo of his words on their wedding night. "I want you to share my life. I want to marry you in the Godswood, in front of my family. I want to show them how proud I am to love you."

Tyrion couldn't help it. Her words were too beautiful, and instead of answering, he cupped her face in his hands and leaned forward, closing the distance between them as he kissed her softly. 

"Sansa," he breathed, kissing her cheek, her nose, then her lips again. 

"I love you," she whispered, tangling her fingers in his hair as she leaned their foreheads together. "I didn't before but it's like my mother said once. Some love has to grow, has to take it's time."

Tyrion laughed, a cross between a gasp and a sob. "You took a long time," he managed. 

"I know," Sansa whispered. "I wish it had been different."

"None of that matters now," Tyrion said, wiping his treacherous eyes as he pulled back, gaze darting all around her face. "We're here now. We survived the long night. And I would be honoured, the most honoured man in the world, to be married to you before your family and your gods."

Sansa broke down crying, her smile so wide her cheeks ached. She was shaking, her heart pounding and her blood rushing with joy, with relief, and for the first time since she was a little girl, she felt truly, truly safe. 

Leaning up she kissed him again, deeper than before, her breath coming in short gasps when he pulled her closer, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. 

"Tyrion," she breathed, fingers going to the clasps on his doublet.

"We should wait for the wedding night," Tyrion said reluctantly as he pushed her back gently. 

"We already had one of those, and you march south in three days. Are we likely to get another one?" Sansa asked with a frown. 

"I suppose not for a while at least," Tyrion sighed. 

"We're already married, Tyrion. My mother followed the faith of the Seven and so do I, just as much as I follow the old gods," Sansa said softly and Tyrion smiled. 

"Who would have thought," he chuckled. "You're the one trying to talk me into your bed, not the other way around."

"I don't want to wait any longer," Sansa quietly admitted and Tyrion's heart broke for her. 

He wanted to destroy every man who had ever been cruel to her, wanted to take his axe from the Battle of the Blackwater and ram it through their heads. But they were all dead now, Joffrey, Littlefinger, Ramsey Bolton. So instead Tyrion did the next best thing. He took her hand and led her gently to the bed, proving in the only way he could, just how much he loved her.


	3. Chapter 3

"You want to what?" Jon said, eyes wide with shock.

"You heard me," Sansa snapped.

"You want to get married. Sansa, we're mustering to march south," Jon pointed out, still in shock.

"All the more reason to get on with it."

"Who could you possibly want to marry badly enough that it has to happen before we go to war?" Jon asked, utterly incredulous at his sister. No matter what the truth of his parentage she would always be his sister.

"The man I'm in love with," Sansa said, trying to keep the smile in check. She didn't think telling Jon would be this much fun, but his face was priceless.

"Well obviously the man you're in love with," Jon scoffed. "Fell in love overnight did ya?"

Sansa bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. The wilder Jon's eyes got the heavier his northern accent became, the more he sounded like their father.

"Not overnight, no," she managed finally, keeping her face miraculously straight.

"Then who?"

Jon cut off and turned to the door when it banged open.

"Did I miss it?" Tyrion asked and Sansa shook her head, biting her lip as she started to chuckle. Tyrion grinned and turned to Jon, who was looking between them and putting the pieces together rapidly.

"Oh gods no," he muttered, backing away. "Sansa, have you lost your mind?"

"You're one to talk," she scoffed and Jon's cheeks reddened.

"That's different," he snapped.

"Is it?" Tyrion asked, coming to stand beside Sansa, smiling when she laid a hand on his shoulder. "You know technically we're already married, but Sansa wanted the ceremony here, with her family, before the northern gods."

Jon went pale. "Oh please tell me you haven't-"

"That's none of your business, Jon," Sansa snapped, daring him to push the subject. "I'm a grown woman and I've made my choice. And I choose Tyrion."

“But-”

“No, Jon. This is happening and I want you there, but if you won't, then that's your choice,” Sansa said.

They stood silent for a long moment, Jon's eyes jumping between the two of them until he signed, his shoulders sagging.

“Of course I'll be there,” he said, stepping forward and embracing his sister. “I only ever want you to be happy.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“I'll...I don't know anything about weddings,” he said as he drew back and Sansa smiled. “Just that as your oldest male relative I'm supposed to arrange it for you.”

“Ask Sam,” Sansa said with a smirk as she turned, holding her hand out to Tyrion. He took her hand with a smile and they left Jon staring after them, his face still resembling someone who'd been clubbed over the head.

“That was brilliant,” Tyrion snickered when they were out of earshot and Sansa couldn't help but agree. She'd missed what it felt like to feel happy and silly, and she knew just from the joy bubbling in her heart that this was right.

 

* * *

 

An hour later Sansa was standing in the courtyard, comparing an inventory list with a stack of grain sacks when her sister cornered her.

"You're marrying the Imp?" Arya demanded, as incredulous as she ever was as a girl.

Sansa raised her eyebrows and looked behind Arya pointedly. Arya turned and saw Gendry across the courtyard shoeing horses, his arms bare even in the cold. She turned back to Sansa and the sisters shared a long look before Arya shrugged.

"Fine." She turned and stalked away across the courtyard.

"I already married him anyway!" Sansa called and Arya just shook her head, not stopping or turning. Sansa smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

They stood around the heart tree, torches lighting the path from the keep, reflecting on the snow so the whole clearing shone.

Jaime stood beside Tyrion, while Arya stood beside Sansa's place. Bran was in his normal spot under the tree, watching with a blank face, and the others, Sam, Gilly and little Sam, Brienne, Daenerys, Missandei, Gray Worm, Varys, Gendry, the Hound, Podrick, Tormund, a few others Tyrion didn't know, were circled loosely around the space in front of the heart tree. Davos stood ready to perform the ceremony and read the words to join them before the old gods.

Tyrion fidgeted, worried that Sansa would have second thoughts once she entered the clearing, that she would see only the similarities to her forced marriage to Ramsey in the old ceremony, but the moment he saw her, he knew he didn't have to worry on that account.

She was practically glowing in the light of the torches as she walked toward him, her hand on Jon's arm, her dress rustling softly as it brushed against the snow. It was blue, such a deep blue it was almost black, and it had been embroidered with silver thread, too finely and delicately to have been done since the day before, and as she drew closer Tyrion saw that the dress was covered in sigils, but it was too dark to make out much beyond that.

Sansa's hair was braided up around her head, exposing her long neck above the line of fur along the collar of the dress, and there was a crown of leaves woven into the braid. The leaves were blood red and Tyrion glanced up at the heart tree, watching as a leaf fell and floated toward him, almost obligingly, and he smiled as he plucked it out of the air and tucked it into a strap on his tunic.

Jon came to a halt when Sansa was nearly at her place, turning her toward him and kissing her forehead softly before he took her hand and placed it over Tyrion's before stepping back.

“We stand today before the old gods and ask for their blessing,” Davos began, smiling at both of them. “We ask them to bless this union, to show favour to this man and this woman, to bring joy to their lives, and prosperity to their houses.”

It was so much simpler than their wedding in the great Sept and Tyrion couldn't help but be relieved by it.

“Lord Tyrion, of the House Lannister, do you take this woman under your protection, do you promise to love and cherish her until the end of your days?”

Tyrion smiled as he turned to Sansa, looking deep into her eyes.

“I take this woman under my protection,” he said softly, remembering the day he'd put his cloak around her shoulders and promised to protect her. This time it was a promise he was gong to keep, no matter what. “I promise to love and cherish her, until the end of my days.”

Sansa was crying already and she squeezed Tyrion's hands as Davos turned to her.

“Lady Sansa, of House Stark, do you take this man under your protection, do you promise to love and cherish him until the end of your days?”

“I take this man under my protection,” she almost whispered, tears slipping from her eyes and down her cheeks. “I promise to love and cherish him until the end of my days.”

“Then before the old gods, and the witnesses gathered here, you are now lawfully man and wife.”

The small crowd began to clap and Sansa smirked, kneeling slowly so her eyes were level with Tyrion and he laughed, shaking his head. Leaning forward he kissed her softly, chaste and appropriate, but she was having none of it and her fingers cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss and there was laughter all around the clearing.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion stared at the dress, now draped across her, _their,_ bed. At the centre, just below the fur collar, was a Direwolf, and spreading down from it were all the sigils of those who had married into the Stark family over the years. Tully, Flint, Royce, Blackwood, Umber, Karstark, Manderly. The history of her house was written on this dress and there, near the bottom, he spotted something that made his breath catch. There in a silver that shone brighter than all the others, the newest of them all, was the Lannister Lion.

“Did you do this?” he asked, his fingers brushing over the sigil.

“Last night,” Sansa said, a smile in her voice. “I don't know how it survived everything, but I found it in a chest when I tripped over a loose stone. That dress has been in my family for ten generations, anyone who married into House Stark, man or woman, had their sigil put on it before the wedding. When it was the woman's sigil, she wore it to show that she was joining her new family willingly and happily. When it was the man's sigil the Stark woman would wear it to welcome him to her family with open arms.”

Tyrion couldn't speak as his fingers brushed over the lion again and again, not quite able to process that this had happened to him, of all people. He turned to look at her and she smiled softly at him, shifting the shawl wrapped around her shoulders over her night shift.

Carefully, Sansa lifted the dress and laid it on a cloth, wrapping it up and placing it back in the box it had come from before she turned back to the bed, only to find Tyrion watching her, the love on his face almost blinding. She gazed at him for a long time before she tossed her shawl on the chair and advanced on him.

“Alright,” she said as she tugged the covers back and buried herself at the centre of the bed. “Now it's our wedding night. Get in bed before I change my mind about marrying you again.”

Tyrion laughed loudly, tugging at his clothes until he was clad only in a long shirt and shivering, before he joined her under the pile of furs, drawing her close.

“I love you,” he said quietly, kissing her softly, again and again and again.

“And I love you,” Sansa whispered back, her heart fluttering with joy.

 

* * *

 

The next night there was a second wedding in the Godswood and a three headed dragon joined the lion at the bottom of the skirt. A year later Sansa added a stag, even though the dress wouldn't be worn for this particular wedding.


	5. Chapter 5

_Three Years Later_

Tyrion paced. And paced. And paced until his legs hurt and Jaime looked ready to knock him over the head with something.

"It's going to be fine," Jaime sighed, eyes tracking his little brother as he walked yet another length of the room.

"You can't know that," Tyrion pointed out, turning and starting back. "Do you know how many 'what ifs' there are?"

"I'm sure you're going to list them," Jaime muttered and Tyrion glared at him.

A scream echoed through the stone hall and Tyrion flinched.

"Think of it as a good thing," Jaime said as Tyrion started moving again. "It won't be much longer now."

Tyrion stopped, his hands clenching and unclenching, before he went and sagged onto the bench beside Jaime.

"What if she doesn't survive?" he finally said quietly.

"Do you honestly think she's not stubborn enough to stare death in the face and tell it to go fuck itself? She's already done that, she'll do it again if it comes to that."

Another scream broke the ensuing silence.

"Is it worth it?" Tyrion finally asked. "Is it worth risking so much? I don't know what I'll do if I lose her."

Jaime was silent for a long time, his face blank as memories assailed him. He remembered the first time he'd seen each of his children, remembered how they grew, so bright and full of life. He remembered the pain of losing them one by one. All the pain that came on the heels of all the joy.

"It's worth it," he said softly.

"I don't imagine Lady Brienne has any interest in becoming a mother," Tyrion muttered, feeling sorry for his brother.

"I'm not sure I would have any interest in becoming a father again," Jaime laughed dryly. "I don't think I ever failed at anything more spectacularly."

"You did love them though," Tyrion said quietly.

"I did," Jaime agreed.

Two maids rushed by and Tyrion growled.

"I hate being stuck out here. I should be in there with her," he groused, wishing he had wine.

"I was there when Myrcella was born, did you know that?" Jaime said. "I was on guard duty that night. Somehow Cersei slept through her labour starting and by the time she woke up and realised, the babe had almost arrived. The only thing the midwife had to do was catch her, about a minute after she got to the room."

Tyrion didn't know what to say. Of all the children, Myrcella had always been his favourite and he knew she had been Jaime's favourite. Now he understood why, but he also knew that Jaime had been there when she died, poisoned by the Dornish harpy. How horrible that must have been for Jaime.

"I don't care!" came a shout loud enough to echo through the halls. "I want him in here, right now!"

"I believe that's for you," Jaime said, nudging his shoulder.

Tyrion was already on his feet, rushing for the door and pushing it open.

"Sansa," he said, practically running over to the bed and taking her hand. She gripped it tightly and turned her face to him, a tight smile on her lips.

"I hate you," she said quietly. "I hate you with every fibre of my being and I want an annulment, right now."

Tyrion forced out a choked laugh and kissed her hand, his eyes misty.

"I am so sorry," he said softly, brushing back some of her sweat damp hair. "If I could share your pain, I would."

"I know," Sansa said, closing her eyes and leaning against his hand. "I'm scared," she whispered and Tyrion squeezed her hand.

"Don't be scared," he said. "That's my job."

She laughed, surprised, and a moment later the midwife checked under the sheet over her legs and gestured at the two maids as there was a flurry of activity and Sansa was instructed to push.

A quarter of an hour later Tyrion feared his hand was broken, Sansa's throat was raw from screaming, and a beautiful baby girl lay tucked against her chest, snuffling softly.

"She's perfect," Tyrion whispered, pressing a kiss to Sansa's hair and she smiled, exhaustion evident.

"You're going to have to let them in soon," Sansa mumbled.

Tyrion sighed, glancing at the door. He could practically picture the cluster of people outside the door. Arya, Gendry, Jon, Jaime, Brienne, Bronn, probably even Sandor Clegane, all waiting to see the newest heir to Winterfell.

"I can tell them to bugger off if you want to sleep," he said softly and Sansa shook her head, pushing herself up with one hand.

"Just let them in," she smiled, resettling the baby against her chest.

Tyrion smiled, kissing her softly before he went and pulled the door open, poking his head out.

"Her Ladyship grants you entry," he smirked, getting out of the way quickly as people piled into the room.

There was a great deal of cooing over the new baby, smiles and sighs and wistful looks in the strangest places, but Tyrion only had eyes for his beautiful wife and his perfect daughter. After a while people began to vanish again until it was just the two of them and Sansa leaned against him, yawning.

“You need to sleep,” he said softly against her hair and she nodded, mumbling.

“Stay with me,” she said and he nodded.

“Always, my love, always.”


	6. Chapter 6

Once again Tyrion marvelled at just how lucky he was as he watched his three, _three,_ beautiful, healthy, perfect daughters tearing around the courtyard of Winterfell, their laughter filling the summer air with music.

It had been a long winter, since the war ended, the temperatures only just beginning to rise as the first, little Catelyn was born. Her sisters had followed perhaps a little quicker than either of their parents would have liked, first Johanna, then Alyanna. The youngest, a little dark haired terror that remained Tyrion far too much of Arya, was just five years old, while Johanna was almost seven, and Cat was nine.

“Aly, be careful!”

Tyrion smiled, looking up at the walkway where Sansa was watching their daughters worriedly, her hand curled around her stomach protectively. His eyes narrowed and instantly he was suspicious. Not that he didn't want another child, but as the Stark's were all so fond of saying, winter was coming. It had been almost eight years of summer and the weather was expected to change any day now, bringing cold winds down from the north to sweep across the land for another five or six long years.

Sansa caught his eye, seeing the expression on his face and she moved her hand at once, but it was too late. She sighed and smiled as they held an entire conversation with just their eyes from different sides of the courtyard. Tyrion raised his eyebrows in question and she smiled slowly, nodding as she rested her hand back on her stomach.

Shaking his head Tyrion broke into a grin and headed for the stairs, making his way up to her as fast as his short old legs would carry him. He didn't stop until he she was in his arms and he could kiss her, happy tears welling in both their eyes.

“Stubborn Northerner,” he said fondly and Sansa chuckled.

“You said you wanted a dozen children,” she remained him and Tyrion shook his head.

“I was definitely overestimating that,” he smiled. “The three we have are handful enough, but I suppose we'll manage one more.”

“But you're worried,” Sansa said knowingly and Tyrion nodded.

“Don't forget, My Lady, winter is coming. And the last winter that came...I nearly lost everything.”

“But not this time,” Sansa said fiercely. “The dead are gone, the Seven Kingdoms have been at peace for almost thirteen years, the wall is rebuilt and manned, just in case there are more of them out there. Winterfell is strong, it has survived for centuries, it survived conquests, invaders, the Night King. I can't think of a safer place for our children, come winter.”

“You make a very good point,” Tyrion conceded, pressing his hand lightly to her stomach. He couldn't tell yet, but already he couldn't wait to meet his next child. Secretly he was hoping for another girl.

“I always make a good point,” Sansa said smugly, rising and sweeping past Tyrion, who just chuckled and followed her.

“You've made bad points before,” he pointed out.

“Name one,” Sansa challenged and Tyrion shook his head.

“Oh no, I don't want to be sleeping in the stables tonight. I want to celebrate!”

“You're hopeless,” Sansa said, shaking her head and even trying to suppress her smile.

“But you love me, warts and all,” Tyrion said, face smug.

“Well,” Sansa sighed dramatically. “I suppose I can't deny that.”

“I would dearly like to see you try,” Tyrion chuckled and Sansa just swiped at him, laughing when he ducked her hand and stuck his tongue out at her.

The years had been kind, allowing Tyrion to openly joke about her love for him. There had been a time where he hadn't believe it was possible that she loved him, but after so long, more than twelve years, Tyrion had truly become the happiest man alive with her at his side. They had beautiful children, they had a beautiful home, and against all odds they had survived everything that had been thrown at them and they had found one another in the midst of it. They'd both come out of the wars stronger, wiser, and even more broken than when they went in, but they had healed each other.

“She's going to be taller than you soon,” Sansa said, watching Alyanna chase her two sisters around and round the courtyard as they descended the stairs. Tyrion rolled his eyes.

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” he said and Sansa smiled. She knew how terrified Tyrion was that one of their children would be a dwarf like him, but so far all their girls had grown absolutely normally.

“She won't be happy if you can't pick her up anymore.”

“I think I can manage for another year or so. She favours Arya, I doubt she'll have your height.”

Catelyn had Sansa's height, while Johanna was somewhere between the two. Unlike Alyanna they both had red hair, lighter than Sansa's but the same brilliant look of fire. All three girls had green eyes and their mother's stubborn chin, and Tyrion couldn't have loved them more if he tired.

“I think it might be a boy,” Sansa said softly as they continued walking, inside and toward the great hall. “I'd like to name him after my father, if it is.”

Tyrion reached up and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and smiling.

“I can't think of a more perfect name for your son,” he said and Sansa smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Our son,” she said softly.

“Or daughter,” Tyrion grinned and Sansa chuckled.

“Or daughter,” she allowed.

Tyrion paused pulling Sansa to a stop and smiling up at her.

“I do love you, Sansa Stark, so very much,” her said, holding her hand in both of his and kissing her knuckled. “I don't think I'll ever have the words for just how much I love you.”

Sansa knelt and kissed him softly, her thumb brushing his cheek and across the end of the scar from Blackwater Bay.

“From this day, until the end of my days,” she whispered and Tyrion laughed.

“Well, I suppose that pretty much sums it up,” he said happily, pulling her forward to kiss her again, and again, and again, for absolutely as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with the end but it kinda just kept going lol. Hope everyone enjoyed! Comments and Kudos make my day, just like everyone! <3


End file.
